In the morning I was super hungry and I wanted to eat before I worked out. I grabbed a box of cereal off the shelf and the milk out of the fridge. I hesitated just a little over the milk jug. The date on the outside said ‘Expires April 20’.

That’s today, I thought, smelling it warily. Which means I should have all day on April 20th, right?

I thought the milk smelled okay so I poured it over my cereal and grabbed a spoon. In my state of super-hungry I scarfed down the cereal. Only when I was down to the last little bit in the bowl did I notice that the milk tasted just a little bit off. Not enough to taste really bad, but just slightly wrong.

I dumped the rest of the cereal out as though it would negate what I’d already eaten. I took the milk jug out of the fridge and put it in the sink as a reminder to rinse it out and throw it away later.

I was feeling less than motivated to work out. I put on workout clothes hoping that would push me to do something active. The closest I came to working out was picking up the house and doing laundry. I took two naps on the couch and later in the afternoon I watched the original Friday the Thirteenth (yes, for the first time, even the movie is as old as I am). I spent the entire movie curled around a pillow with a terrible stomach ache nursing a glass of ginger ale.

Later that night I was feeling a little better. My friend Veronica stopped by with some Scottish shortbread cookies she’d made. She used two pounds of butter making them, so of course they were uh-mazing.

While Veronica stood in my kitchen Hannah spotted the milk jug in the sink. I’d forgotten all about it.

“Can I have this?” Hannah asked.

“Sure,” I said. “What are you gonna do with it?”

“I want to make something.”

“You can poke holes in the top of the plastic lid,” Veronica suggested. “Then it becomes a watering can for plants.”

Hannah was in. She grabbed the scissors and dumped the remainder of the milk out into the sink.

The milk came out in chunks.

Veronica looked at it made a face. “Ew. That’s not milk anymore. That’s cheese.”

I looked at the chunks and swallowed the urge to vomit. “Oh my God I ate that.” Veronica looked at me alarmed. “I thought it smelled fine!”

She gave me a concerned look. “Are you okay?”

“I am now. But it would explain why I felt like crap today.”

“Uh, yeah.”

Moral of the Story: Trust the date on the bottle, not my nose. Chemo may have permanently affected my taste buds and sense of smell.

I’m having some trouble finding a silver lining. My mind keeps snagging on the chunks of milk and reminding me You ate that. So I’m going to go with the only silver lining I can see.